Tulips and Windmills
by petite-dreamer
Summary: He wanted the perfect child. She hopes he'll realize that perfection is in the eye of the beholder.


Whoever designed hospitals had no sense of humanity, he'd decided. Why did walls and towels and floors have to be white to be sterile? They just made stains that more obvious. And why was it so cold in here? And why was this taking so _long_?

"Sonic the Hedgehog?"

The blue hero's ears twitched in acknowledgment as he finally stopped pacing, much to the relief of the plump vixen nurse that had hailed him. The damage was already done, though; she eyed the steep groove that now marred the lobby's tile floor and made a mental note to file a maintenance request. For now, though, her concern was the preoccupied male whose uncharacteristically solemn eyes were begging her for good news.

"Is she okay?"

The fox chuckled. "She's fine. In fact, I came out to tell you that you can go in to see her now. But I should warn you that the – hey, wait!" As was to be expected, he zipped off before she could finish, and she winced as he narrowly missed a new admission being wheeled in on a gurney. As she righted some IV stands the hedgehog had toppled in his rush, the nurse couldn't help but wish some other hospital had received the honor of caring for this particular celebrity couple.

-

Despite his hasty departure, Sonic found himself screeching to a halt before the room. He'd always figured he'd be here someday – in this stage of life, that is, not this particular building. But that didn't mean he was any less terrified. After all, he was about to take on a role that would extend far beyond his current one as resident hero; saving the day tended to be just that, a one day thing.

But now long-term responsibility, which was still a foreign concept to him, was standing on the other side of this sterile wall with hand extended in introduction. He eyed the innocuous door uneasily then laughed nervously when the irony of the situation struck him.

"Of all the things to be intimidated by," he muttered, "it's not the homicidal robots. It's not the mad scientist bent on world domination. It's not even the trigger-happy look-alike; it's a _door._" Yet he was acutely aware of every click and creak created by the simple action of turning the knob as he peered cautiously into the room.

And there she was. Her face still bore signs of the painful and exhausting ordeal she had just endured, and she was drenched in sweat. Sonic noticed none of this. All he could see was her glowing smile and the cart next to the bed that contained one swaddled bundle.

Apprehension vanished without a trace, and his trademark confidence took its place. "Have I ever mentioned how good-looking my girl is?"

Amy lifted her eyes, and although he would have sworn it was impossible, her smile grew even wider. "Yes, yes you have. Now get over here and give me a celebration kiss, _Daddy_."

He obliged her in full, almost _too _well in fact. She pushed him away just enough to breathe. "I'm sure the hospital appreciates our patronage, Sonic, but don't you think we should wait at least a few months before we get back to making babies?"

Sonic chuckled, hoping she didn't notice his cheeks turn pink under his cobalt fur. More serious now, he lovingly brushed back a few stray bangs that were stuck to her forehead with perspiration. "So do I get to see this kid or what?"

The corners of her mouth drooped a bit and her eyes darkened ever so slightly. The change would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but super-sonic reflexes did wonders for perception time. And what Sonic was seeing was making him nervous.

"Ames, what is it? Is something wrong?"

Her expression shifted again, the eyebrows lowering in confusion. "They didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Sonic frowned as Amy became clearly uncomfortable and fearful - and did a miserable job of hiding it. His own apprehension was just as poorly disguised in next question. "Amy, is the baby sick?"

"No, he's healthy," she replied truthfully, albeit too quickly.

Tired of dancing around the issue, Sonic approached the cradle to examine the child himself.

"Wait!" Amy blurted. "Promise – promise you won't get angry."

"Why would I be mad?"

Amy didn't answer. He peeled the blanket away from the newborn's head, and Sonic felt himself relax. Although he felt ashamed of it now, one of his reactions to Amy's sudden jumpiness was a suspicion of unfaithfulness, that perhaps she was nervous because the child wasn't his. But seeing as he was the only other hedgehog the same shade of blue as the infant male, it was clear there would be no need for a paternity test.

Now he was able to _really_ look at his offspring. While the fur shade was an exact match of his own, the tiny, blunt headspines were arranged in a slightly different pattern – genetics from Amy's side, maybe? He marveled at just how small the child was; the round black nose looked only as big as a pea. Miniature fingers were scrunched into wrinkled fists. Although he knew he'd laugh at himself for it later, he counted them, then unwrapped the feet to number the toes. Ten and ten.

Strangely, he found his gaze always returning to the face. It was the face of a newborn exhausted from the trauma of labor and the shock of entering a world very different from the mother's womb, a world filled with light, sound, and cold. But something was off. He couldn't begin to explain it, but there was a stubborn, nagging feeling in his gut. Then the little guy's face stretched in a huge yawn and his eyes blinked open.

Sonic's eyes grew wide as he looked in those of his son. Amy's sea green irises were the only trait that she seemed to have passed directly to the child – but it wasn't the eyes' color that alarmed him.

It was their shape.

They were narrow and almond-shaped, and the eyelids had only a single fold. He had seen eyes like them before.

_My son... my son has Down Syndrome?_

"Sonic, wait!"

He didn't realize he had put down the infant and fled the room until she yelled after him, and by then he was long gone.


End file.
